The Blood Donor

For the first time ever I've been turned away from the blood donors. And it's nothing to do with having sex with men before you ask*. Far more mundanely, my blood failed on 'iron level' which sounds like a manfail if ever there was one. Why couldn't I fail a less butch test? "Sorry sir, but your blood wasn't pink and fluffy enough for us" never happens to me.
Naturally I was downcast. "I'm sorry" I flustered "This has never happened to me before. I've been under a lot of stress lately, with work n' that" Of course, the nurse was very understanding and insisted it wasn't my fault and we could always try again later, albeit in 3 months time. I enquired if it would help if I ate more bananas. No, she said, though red meat might improve things (RED MEAT?? I KNEW IT! MANFAIL!!!) and I slunk off home, head bowed. I did consider asking if  I could have the cup of tea and biscuits while I was here but thought that would be a bit cheeky so had a kitkat (mint) when I got home.

By my logic it's their fault anyway. If they didn't keep bringing in all these tests I wouldn't keep failing them. It was different when it all began, back when I was a callow youth of twenty-something (began for me I mean; I would imagine the blood donation service had been a thing for a while). There was no particular reason that prompted me to do it, no life-saving blood transfusion on a family member, I just simply decided I was going to be a nicer person and giving blood is what nice people did. So off I toddled to the local hall and gave the traditional pint (or armful if you prefer). It was a doddle, a fair trade I thought for a cup of tea and some bourbons, and the knowledge my blood might be helping save a life gave me that lovely warm glow you usually only see on porridge commercials.
It was also how I came to find out what blood group I am, having previously been in a state of blissful ignorance. Around Christmas-time every year I get a letter asking me to make that extra effort to donate because demand for my blood-type is so high. Is that because I have an incredibly rare type, due to my descent from Nordic Superheros? Sadly no, it's because any Tom, Dick or Chavvy can accept my disappointingly unexceptional blood. All I can say is at times like this I'm glad I'm not a Nazi or I'd be escorting myself to the gas chambers.

Anyway, over the years that followed I've given blood whenever I can, excepting illness, work commitments and that one time where the nurse missed my vein. Twice. During this time I've learned a great deal about the importance of drinking a glass of water beforehand, of squeezing and unsqueezing the fingers on your donating arm, and, of course, periodically clenching and unclenching your buttocks. But I've never failed the iron test until today. I wonder if it's an age thing, something that will occur more often as the grim hand of death gets ever closer. I suppose I'll get another clue in three months time...

*Disclaimer: There's nothing wrong with having sex with men if that's what you're into. It just so happens that I'm not, especially when I've just had my tea.